Author: Chris Wells

Here is my little fleet of wood clamps awaiting their first task: the gluing of an endliner  at the stern end of the lute. I enjoyed making them, and I tried to make them well; they are meant to last the distance – whatever that may be.

To my prejudiced eye they look quite charming and companionable….but apart from that, I am hoping they can actually do the job.

 

 

Black and white are absolute – expressing the most delicate vibration,
the most profound tranquility, and unlimited profundity.

I make black and white prints because I want to go back to the beginning.

Shiko Munakata (1903 – 1975)

The beginning of a new Lute Shell. I thought I might as well work on a second lute, while completing the first.

As before, I will shape the neck-block from a piece of quarter-sawn Poplar. There is no need to ‘loft’ the mould and templates; it’s all done, and ready to go.

The search is on for a suitable wood:  possibly (recycled) Huon Pine. I have been told by those who know that it produces a gentle sound – which is fine by me. Any sort of lute sound would be gratifying.

I hope I can remember what the Learning Curve taught me….

 

Much has been written about Joshua Slocum’s last voyage, and his mysterious disappearance.

Arthur Ransom believed that the Spray was probably cut down at night in a shipping lane. An alternative theory holds that her captain simply fell off the fore deck in a storm….while she kept sailing unerringly towards the sunrise. Other pundits suggest that a giant swordfish might have skewered a garboard plank  – and again, that the little ship was swamped by a hump-backed whale, surfacing without due care.

All these theories are plausible – but I think they fall wide of the  mark.

To my mind, there is no mystery: Joshua Slocum  sailed away and never came back. That is all. He had his beloved Spray as companion; no doubt he carried below deck the old tin clock, freshly-boiled; his knowledge of sea and sky and everything in between was immense – and the Pilot of the Pinta  would have been keeping night watch, as the captain slept. Why not sail on?

For all we know, he may be sailing still….

casting off
casting away
tin clock
without a face
tells the hour

casting away
for the last time
no way back
clearing the lee shore
through the eye
of a zephyr

sweeping across
sweeping the currents
trimming sail
beneath the dizzying stars

beyond the hours
beyond the days
beyond sight
beyond breath

a mirage of gannets
soaring
plummeting

 

I have been making gadgets as I go – and as the need arises.

The small wood clamps are designed to apply gentle pressure without damaging the ribs. I will use them when I glue the endliner and endclasp along the top edge of the shell….more about that anon.

As for the wood scraper: I can now apply forward energy through the palms of the hands, rather than via the thumbs and fingers.

The lute shell is free of the mould, and almost ready for fitting out….

Firstly, however, I must tidy up the rib joints from the inside – especially at the broad (curved) end, in preparation for the endliner. This provides reinforcement across the weakest point of the construction.

You can see that the tape is still attached; it will remain until the endliner  and endclasp are successfully installed. Since I work in a Boatshed, I am also inclined to fit heavy thwarts, quarter-knees and sawn frames – but I have an idea that lute Devotees would not approve….

 

Mid-afternoon – winter light….

Yesterday Sam and I strolled to the estuary, as we do every week, to inspect the river mouth and sand-dunes  and everything in between.

On the way back we turned to admire the land and seascape stretching away northwards.  A silvery light was slanting across the hills behind Normanville – and beyond that, across the hills east of Carrickalinga, where we used to have our patch of earth with the little wooden cottage and workshop.

I think my (unpaid) photographer has done a good job in capturing the scene with his trusty phone camera.